


Pancakes in the Morning

by ajwolf



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Pancakes, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajwolf/pseuds/ajwolf
Summary: A year ago Yuuri drank 16 glasses of Champagne and ended up in bed with Viktor. He didn't know what to call what they had now, but he should have known better then to fall in love with a playboy.A year ago Viktor fell in love with the shy wallflower who had asked him to dance and then seduced him on the pole. He should have told him he loved him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Less than 24 hours ago I was standing in my kitchen at 1am making pancakes listening to a cover of [Stitches by Madilyn Paige and Maddie Wilson](https://youtu.be/alMp9rAfWO4). Somehow this came out of it.
> 
> Please enjoy.

It was one ‘o’clock in the morning in St. Petersburg and Yuuri Katsuki was standing in the moonlit kitchen of Viktor Nikiforov’s apartment cooking pancakes. His body had no clue what time zone he was in anymore after all the travel in the past week: Detroit, Tokyo, Sochi and now St. Petersburg; so who was to say having pancakes in the wee hours of the morning wasn’t normal.

Celestino wasn’t exactly thrilled with Yuuri right now, it had been one thing when he’d driven to Skate America in Indianapolis, but leaving the moment the Japanese Nationals had ended in order to make it to Sochi just in time for the Free Skate of the Russian Nationals. In his mind this was more sensible since he had over a month until Four Continents, but he wasn’t questioning it.

Nor did he question it when Viktor had shown up at the Rostelcom Cup in Moscow when Yuuri had skated there. He hadn’t questioned much since last year’s Grand Prix Final.

For more than a decade he’d been competing competitively, and for years he’d been chasing Viktor. Then suddenly, when he was 20, he wasn’t chasing his idol anymore. It seemed like a dream to look down from the top of the podium and see that head of silver hair below him. He hadn’t been able to help himself when he’d reached down and poked Viktor on the top of the head.

They had been friendly before that, Chris and Yuuri had been battling for more than 2 years to dethrone Viktor, but that day he’d done it, and with one poke he’d cemented their friendship, causing all three skaters to burst into laughter. The news articles the next day had called it a humanizing moment for Viktor.

Viktor Nikiforov the playboy and Yuuri Katsuki the shy wallflower (who was far less celibate then the press made him out to be) had become close friends since then, sharing podiums again and again, fending off the ever increasing number of challengers, only giving the top of the podium to each other, neither able to maintain a dominant hold over the other.

And then everything had changed just over a year ago at the Grand Prix. Yuuri had won both the GPF and the World Cup the previous year, and was hoping to claim the GPF one more time, which would have been the longest run either of them had managed since Yuuri’s first Gold, but he’d flubbed a jump he’d done a thousand times and lost by 1 point. His deduction for the jump was 1.1 points.

He had been understandably frustrated, not angry at Viktor, but more so with himself. It hadn’t been made any better when the Russian Junior Champion had accosted him in the bathroom, declaring there didn’t need to be two Yuris in the senior bracket. “Just retire already, moron!” he’d shouted in Yuuri’s face before storming out. Cheeky brat. Yuuri couldn’t wait to put the Russian punk in his place.

He was still irritated so he’d done something inadvisable and drank 16 glasses of Champagne. Not his finest moment by many counts.

First he’d challenged the Russian Yuri to a dance off (and won), and then he’d grabbed Viktor into an enthusiastic Flamenco to prove some sort of point. According to the photos he’d seen they’d had fun and made a pretty good dance pairing.

Then somehow Chris had got him half naked and convinced him to pole dance together. That was unfortunate, or not because an hour later Viktor had slipped his room key into Yuuri’s hand with a wink.

Yuuri had woken up the next morning with few memories, a killer hangover and a hot Russian curled within his arms.

That had been the beginning of whatever this was.

Yuuri had gotten up and taken a long shower. When he returned to the room Viktor was awake, and instead of walking out like any sensible person would have done after a one night stand, he’d collapsed back into the bed and fucked Viktor twice more. Based on how sore his ass was that morning he figured turn about was fair play. Viktor hadn’t minded.

When Yuuri had eventually left (after 3 missed phone calls from Celestino), he’d casually written his number on a pad of paper and handed it to Viktor without a word. An action that felt way too cool for him.

Viktor had texted him 2 days later and asked what it would take to convince Yuuri to come to the European Championships.

It hadn’t taken much.

It had taken even less to convince Viktor to come to Four Continents.

Celestino and Yakov had both pulled their hair out for a week cursing their ridiculous champion skaters.

Worlds had been in Tokyo and Yuuri wasn’t sure Viktor spent even an hour in his own hotel room.  It wasn’t love, it was just sex, or at least that’s what Yuuri had been telling himself.

It had been a good lie until he’d mentioned he was taking two weeks off to visit his family while in Japan and Viktor had invited himself along. It had been way too easy to fall into something that looked like a couple as they enjoyed Yuuri’s quiet hometown together.

Even easier when Viktor gave Yuuri his ‘Eros’ short program and Yuuri helped Viktor choreograph his Free Skate. They’d caused quite the stir when it was announced they had created programs for each other. Viktor had handled most of the press simply stating that he had decided not to use ‘Eros’ and thought it suited Yuuri, and Yuuri had helped with his program as a gesture of thanks.

No one needed to know that Viktor’s inspiration for ‘Eros’ had been the way Yuuri’s body moved when he straddled a pole, pun intended.

Yuuri wasn’t sure what his inspiration for Viktor’s program had been, it was just something he’d been skating in his head for years. It had never suited him, but when he showed it to Viktor, it had suddenly made perfect sense. Viktor skated the program like a man in love, and what could be more surprising than a playboy in love.

Maybe seeing the wallflower skate a program designed to capture the playboy.

Yuuri had been assigned to the Cup of China and the Rostelcom Cup that year, while Viktor had been assigned Skate America and the Trophee de France. Since the Cup and the Trophee were the same weekend neither could attend each other’s debut performances, but they hadn’t even needed to ask the other to come to their second qualifier.

Yuuri had won the GPF this year, narrowly beating out Viktor who promised that Love would defeat Eros at Worlds.

You’d think it would be pretty obvious to anyone what was going on between the two, but in this heteronormative world, the press had simply dubbed them “Skater Bros”, which had made Yuuri’s rinkmate Phichit nearly pee his pants when he’d seen it.

“Yeah, bros, cause bros give each other blow jobs in the locker room all the time!”

“Didn’t you give Chris one at the Cup of China?”

“Shut up.”

The speculation was that this was Viktor’s last year, and Yuuri was supporting his friend and competitor as much as possible before he retired. Not even Yuuri knew if it was Viktor’s last season, they talked a lot, but never about the most important of things.

And now he’d gone and come here just so he could spend Viktor’s birthday with him. Whatever it was, it was clear it was far more than bros.

They would have to talk about this soon.

In the meantime he’d eat pancakes.

There was a glow as one of their phones flashed from the coffee table where they’d dropped them before throwing off their clothes and racing to the bedroom. It was too dark to tell whose was whose (since they both had the same background image, a photo of the two of them dancing that the GPF), so Yuuri swiped the notification thinking nothing of it.

It wasn’t his phone.

 

_Hey sexy, ready for our traditional birthday celebration?_

 

The woman had included a picture; she wasn’t wearing much.

Yuuri was about to toss the phone away with a roll of his eyes, but something had stopped him. He scrolled through the woman’s messages, seeing more pictures like the one she sent tonight, and not all were at Christmas. Some were from just a few months ago. True, Viktor hadn’t responded to her, but he hadn’t told her to stop either. And based on this they had met up last Christmas…

Yuuri swallowed a lump in his throat, slowly scrolling through more messages. There were dozens, men and women, all inviting Viktor out to play. None of them had been told by Viktor he was unavailable.

Yuuri knew logically he had no right to be jealous; they’d never had the talk after all, but that didn’t matter to his mind where his anxiety reigned.

Viktor was a playboy, Yuuri knew that, but he’d never been confronted with it before. Suddenly he felt like a fool, the pancakes turning to lead in his gut.

He didn’t sleep that night. Instead he sat up all night thinking. When Viktor found him in the morning Yuuri had simply turned to him and whispered, “Let’s end this.”

 

Yuuri didn’t watch the Europeans, and everyone around him knew not to mention them. No one had dared to mention Viktor’s name since Yuuri had returned home 3 days early looking like he hadn’t slept since he’d left Japan, which wasn’t far from the truth.

Celestino was worried about Yuuri, but technically speaking, he was skating better than ever. His performance however was lackluster at best. He looked like a zombie, simply going through the motions of his now emotionless programs.

Then Yuuri had lost Four Continents for the first time in 5 years; some upstart named JJ had taken Gold. Phichit had claimed Bronze, just barely missing out on over taking Yuuri.

Celestino had spread the rumor that Yuuri was fighting stomach flu. It wasn’t hard to believe, Yuuri had looked pale and lifeless after all.

He sat in hallway with his hood drawn up over his head as he waited for his coach and rink mate to finish their press conference after the competition, idly looking at the Silver medal which had never felt so hallow.

“Wow, first Viktor and now Yuuri. It’s like an era is coming to an end!” A group of junior skaters were passing by, not noticing the curled up skater. “Doesn’t seem a stretch to think they’ll both retire now, especially if someone else takes Gold at Worlds. JJ and Otabek both have a shot after their Golds.”

So Viktor had lost Europeans. It was unexpected, but not out of the realm of possibilities. Otabek was a strong skater.

But Viktor shouldn’t be losing, and neither should Yuuri.

Yuuri stood and looked for his coach. He finally spotted the man escorting Phichit out of the locker room.

“Celestino,” Yuuri muttered.

His coach stared at him with concern, “What do you need Yuuri?”

It might have sounded a little cold but Yuuri understood the sentiment. Celestino knew something in Yuuri had broken, and no one but Yuuri would be able to fix it.

“I think I need to go home for a few weeks.”

“But Worlds…”

“I will fall apart at Worlds if I don’t go now. I will practice, I promise. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

Celestino had sighed and Phichit had surged forward and hugged Yuuri tight, “Call me if you need me to send anything from the apartment.”

Yuuri squeezed his friend, “Thanks ‘Chit.”

A surprisingly few hours later he was back home, and already in Minako’s studio, dancing to some unknown song in his head. Normally he’d run to the ice, but right now it just felt too cold.

He was aware of Minako’s presence, but she remained silent and he ignored her.

This carried on for a week before Minako finally broke.

“I’ve stayed quiet long enough, we’re going for a run.”

And so they’d run together, Yuuri falling into Minako’s pace, finding it comfortable but still a decent workout.

“Are you eating?”

Yuuri thought about it, “Not really.”

She frowned, “I can tell. You’ve always had a small amount of fat on you, but you’ve lost that.”

“Good.”

“No, it’s not. You look terrible.”

That hurt.

“You going to tell me what’s wrong or am I going to have to guess?”

Yuuri didn’t answer.

“You’re in love with Viktor.”

Yuuri still didn’t answer but his mouth tightened, causing Minako to nod.

“And he’s a playboy and somehow you forgot all that when you were together but something reminded you of it and now you feel like an idiot.”

Yuuri stopped, “Am I that easily read?”

“Yes.”

That wasn’t comforting.

“Did you ever tell him how you feel?”

Yuuri shook his head. “But neither did he.”

“Oh you think so? I knew you were blind without your glasses, but I didn’t realize you were blind with them on too.”

Yuuri sighed, “What do you mean?”

“Come,” she said simply.

They returned to her studio and Minako sat him down in front of her computer pulling up Viktor’s GPF Free Skate.

“I saw this, I was there, remember.”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t want…”

“Too bad, watch.”

So he did. It was truly beautiful. Viktor deserved to have won, in Yuuri’s opinion.

“Now,” she tapped on the keyboard the moment it was over, pulling up the same performance from Europeans.

It was the same, but completely different. Now Viktor skated like a man who was desperate; a man who was shattered and begging. The man in love had transformed to the man desperate for another chance.

Tears came to Yuuri’s eyes.

“I think he’s been pretty clear.”

Yuuri cried harder, “Then why did he never tell me, or anyone else!”

“He’s Russian and you’re Japanese. What would you like him to do? Hire a sky writer? He told you in the only way he could. Did you know he sent your parents a Christmas gift?”

“What?”

“It was a family tea set; your mom uses it every day. There’s a cup for each of you, me and Viktor.”

Yuuri’s heart ached.

“He mentioned in the note he sent you something to match. I guess he didn’t know you were going to Russia.”

Yuuri shook his head.

“And I’m guessing you never opened it?”

Yuuri couldn’t even remember. Phichit had been handling the mail, simply setting aside anything for Yuuri to be ignored for the past month an half.

“Maybe you should try talking back.”

“I can’t…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you’re terrible at words. But aren’t you better than anyone at speaking with your skates?”

Yuuri breathed, “I’m afraid to go on the ice right now.”

Minako sighed, “Maybe you’re afraid because you know if you skate, you’ll have to acknowledge the truth.”

She was right, he knew that, but he still resisted the call of the ice until well after dark, late enough that he was sure the Ice Castle would be closed.

Instead he found Yuuko waiting for him, ice recently cleaned, stereo already playing some song Yuuri had never heard on repeat.

“Minako recommended the music,” she said softly.

Yuuri nodded. He laced up his skates and moved slowly towards the ice, a single thought on his mind: Everything on the ice we call love. Viktor had said it to him once, and Yuuri hadn’t understood what he meant.

Maybe he did now.

He began to skate, slow and smooth, his body eager for the familiar motions. He had no idea how long he was on the ice until finally something changed, his body moving into his own program, the words of the unfamiliar song now carved into his soul so that he no longer needed to hear them.

 

_Just like a moth drawn to a flame_

_Oh you lured me in I couldn't sense the pain_

_Your bitter heart cold to the touch_

_Now I'm gonna reap what I sew_

_I'm left seeing red on my own_

 

The longer he skated the more honest he became with himself. The truth was he was angry. Angry that Viktor hadn’t told off those paramours that sought his company. Silence wasn’t enough. None of it was enough.

 

_Got a feeling that I'm going under_

_But I know that I'll make it out alive_

_If I quit calling you my lover_

_Move on_

 

Angry at himself, he should know better than to fall for a playboy. He did know better. Viktor’s heart had been long closed, why did he expect different? But he had.

 

_You watch me bleed until I can't breathe_

_I'm shaking falling onto my knees_

_And now that I'm without your kisses_

_I'll be needing stitches_

_I'm tripping over myself_

_I'm aching begging you to come help_

_And now that I'm without your kisses_

_I'll be needing stitches_

 

Why hadn’t Viktor stopped him when he left? Why hadn’t he fought for them? That was proof this was all just a game, wasn’t it?

The tears were flowing down his face now, his jumps and spins sloppy, but he didn’t care, it was the most emotion he’d let into his skating in weeks.

Why did he have to fall in love with Viktor? Did Viktor love him? Could he trust that video? Could he trust Viktor?

 

_And now that I'm without your kisses_

_I'll be needing stitches_

 

Did he want it to end like this? Viktor would retire, somehow he knew that. If he left things as they were Viktor would end his skating career. The ice without Viktor wasn’t complete for Yuuri. Nothing was.

He thought back to that night in Viktor’s kitchen; he’d imagined making them breakfast the next morning. He’d imagined many mornings in that kitchen, kissing in the sunlight, making love on the counter.

He did a Quad Flip, the jump that was Viktor’s, the jump he’d finally nailed here on this ice with Viktor. This ice where they had become a ‘we’, because everything had changed the moment Viktor had followed him home. He shouldn’t have needed words to know that.

Was it Viktor’s fault? Was it really? Or was Yuuri’s heart the one that had long grown cold, unable to trust the best thing that had ever come into his life?

The song ended for what must have been the hundredth time and Yuuri looked up. The sun was peaking over the horizon, and a very tired looking Yuuko was holding up her phone recording him skating.

He looked at her, wondering if he should be angry, but all he said was, “Thank You.”

 

Two days later he was back in Detroit. He’d messaged Celestino and told him he’d be back the next day after he got some sleep.

He’d gone home after he left the rink and hugged his family, promising to be back after Worlds.

“Bring Vicchan with you,” his mother whispered. It was the first they’d spoken on the subject, but of course she understood.

Yuuri nodded, “If he’ll forgive me. I’m afraid I’ve been an idiot, Mom.”

She smiled, tears glistening in her eyes, “Love can do that to us.”

Now as he entered the apartment he shared with Phichit, he looked for the stack of mail he’d been ignoring.

There was a large pile of fan mail, letters telling him how much he’d inspired them. How long had it been since he read his fan mail, really read it?

He went through each piece carefully, reading every word with the upmost attention, slowly moving toward the box at the bottom with Cyrillic script.

Finally it was all that remained and he slowly slid his room key through the packing tape sealing the parcel.

There was a note, but he saved that for last, instead opening the green and red wrapped package.

Inside were two things that would have confused him before he went to St. Petersburg, but were clear to him. If only he’d seen this sooner. If only he hadn’t looked at that phone.

There was a key and a coffee mug – a mug that matched the one Viktor used in his apartment.

Tears started to fall down his cheeks as he opened the note.

 

_Yuuri,_

_I know I’m terrible at words, so maybe this is the worse way to ask, but would you accept this matching set?_

_Love, Viktor_

 

And there was a photo of Viktor, taken just before Nationals, holding his own matching key and mug, with Yuuri’s sitting in the box in front of him.

A sob broke out of Yuuri’s chest and soon he was curled up on himself leaning against the end of his bed. Phichit found him who knows how much later, looking at the box and photo on the floor before wrapping Yuuri in his arms.

He tried to ask Yuuri to talk to him, but all Yuuri could do was shove his phone with the video Yuuko had sent him playing. Phichit watched and soon he was crying too. At some point Phichit got up and got Yuuri a glass of water. Yuuri thought he might have heard Phichit’s camera snap, but figured it was just his imagination.

At some point he let Phichit steer him into his bed where he collapsed and cried himself to sleep.

 

 ---------

 

It was dark in St. Petersburg, Viktor had no idea the time. What did it matter anymore when everywhere he looked all he could see were memories of Yuuri? Yuuri in the sunlight when they got home from Sochi, smiling happy as he looked around Viktor’s home, Yuuri in the dusk of his room after they made love.

Yuuri in the dark telling him they should end this.

What had he done wrong? What had changed in the few hours he’d been asleep that night? Yuuri had made pancakes, Viktor had smelled the syrup.

Now the scent made him sick.

He’d imagined making Yuuri breakfast in bed just the day before, not just Christmas morning, but every morning.

Sure, they wouldn’t have been able to live together right away; Yuuri’s coach was in Detroit after all, but someday. Someday he thought Yuuri would come and never leave.

His phone dinged with some notification he really couldn’t care less about. But then it dinged again. And again.

He sighed and picked it up; it was probably Yakov demanding he come to practice. Was it time for practice? He didn’t know, time didn’t seem to matter anymore.

It was a series of massages from Phichit Chulanont, the Thai Skater who had just participated in his first Grand Prix. He and Yuuri were friends, weren’t they?

Phichit: Viktor are you awake?

Phichit: Viktor are you there?

Phichit: Maybe you don’t want to talk to me, but it’s important so answer.

Viktor had to admit, he was curious.

Viktor: Yes, I’m awake.

Phichit: Watch

There was a video. Viktor tapped it and turned up his volume.

It was Yuuri, he was in Hatsetsu. Why was he there? His Four Continents performance hadn’t been good, but he hadn’t heard that Yuuri was pulling out of Worlds.

The music started and Yuuri began to skate. It was no program Viktor knew, but as he skated, Viktor felt tears come to his eyes.

 

_I thought that I've been hurt before_

_But no one's ever left me quite this sore_

_Your words cut deeper than a knife_

_Now I need someone to breathe me back to life_

_Got a feeling that I'm going under_

_But I know that I'll make it out alive_

_If I quit calling you my lover_

_Move on_

 

No, he didn’t want to move on. He loved Yuuri. Viktor could see he was crying. His skating was a mess. Frankly he’d earn a bucket full of deductions for this sloppy footwork, which was so atypical for Yuuri.

But it didn’t matter, because Viktor could see it; Yuuri was heartbroken. Just as much as he was.

And then Yuuri did a Quad Flip.

 

_You watch me bleed until I can't breathe_

_I'm shaking falling onto my knees_

_And now that I'm without your kisses_

_I'll be needing stitches_

_I'm tripping over myself_

_I'm aching begging you to come help_

_And now that I'm without your kisses_

_I'll be needing stitches_

 

Why had he not stopped him when he left? Why had he not insisted they talk? Why hadn’t he called?

What had caused this?

He tried thinking back, looking through his phone, trying to find anything that would explain it. He scrolled through his camera roll, noticing a photo he’d never seen; he thought he’d deleted all the photos of that girl.

It was automatically saved from his messages. But he’d never seen this, had he?

He tapped over to his messages. Oh no.

Christmas, she’d sent it on Christmas.

He looked at his phone with new disgust, suddenly realizing just how many messages he had from ex-lovers. He hadn’t contacted them since he’d been with Yuuri, in fact, when she’d messaged him the year before he’d called her back and politely declined. But Yuuri wouldn’t know that.

Shit.

He began deleting messages one after another until there was nothing left. Then he deleted contacts, all of them, every last one of his old flames.

It wasn’t enough.

His phone pinged.

Phichit: Did you watch it?

Viktor: Do I have any chance?

Phichit sent a photo.

It was a room Viktor had seen before in the background of Yuuri’s Skype calls, and then he remembered Phichit was Yuuri’s roommate.

There was Yuuri on the floor, curled against the foot of his bed, clearly crying. On the floor a clearly just unwrapped present with red and Green wrapping paper Viktor had used only once.

Another message.

Phichit: Yuuri isn’t good with words and even worse at hearing them.

Viktor was up in an instant, phone to his ear.

“Yakov, I need a few days off. I’m going to fix it.” He hung up not waiting to hear his coach’s response.

 

  ---------

 

Yuuri woke up the next morning feeling like death, but he’d promised Celestino. He stared at the mug on the ground, slowly moving over and kneeling down to pick it up. He ran his finger along the key.

Was it too late?

He picked up his phone and dialed.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service and cannot be reached.”

Yuuri collapsed onto the floor, tears flowing fresh. He was too late. He’d had it, he’d had happiness in his fingers and he let it slip away.

No, he wouldn’t accept that. There was still one more chance to convince Viktor to forgive him, one more chance before Viktor did something crazy like retire just so he’d never have to see Yuuri again.

One last chance.

He threw on his practice gear and sprinted to the rink. He had one last chance to seduce the playboy, but this time he wouldn’t just seduce, this time he’d make him fall in love.

 

His practice that day was the best he’d ever been. His body had moved so easily, as if it was composing a love song, which he supposed it was. Celestino and Phichit had cheered, declaring Worlds a done deal.

Phichit had pulled him aside later and asked if he was ok.

Yuuri nodded, “I’m going to fight for him, Phichit. I’m not willing to let this be the end.”

Phichit had smiled and nodded, “Ok, I’ll support you then. No matter what.”

Phichit had stayed behind to sort out a step sequence that was giving him trouble, so Yuuri walked home alone. He scrolled through his Instagram for the first time in weeks, ignoring most of the old notifications, but paused when he saw something curious.

Viktor had posted a photo, a photo of a door, a door that looked distinctly familiar.

It can’t be…

He took off at a run, sprinting even faster home than he had to practice. His feet fell heavily on the stairs and soon he was skidding to a stop at the end of his hall.

There was someone sitting outside his door.

“Viktor,” he whispered.

The silver head turned towards him, eyes red rimmed, looking thinner than Yuuri remembered. Was this how others saw him?

Viktor stood and in his hand was a phone, a new one, which he was holding out towards Yuuri, the contacts list open. There was only one entry.

“I deleted all my contacts but it wasn’t enough, so I bought a new phone. You’re the only one in it.”

Yuuri stared up at him, mouth dropping open.

“Of course I will need to add Yakov back in and I’d like to get some other skaters in there as well but for now you’re the only one that matters.”

“Why are you here?”

Viktor pulled up the single text message in his phone; it was from himself and contained the video of Yuuri skating, and a picture of him crying. “Phichit sent these to me.”

Yuuri buried his face in his hands, but Viktor’s finger was on his chin, lifting his face to meet his eyes.

“The offer still stands Yuuri. I’m yours, only yours, and I want you to be mine. I want you to be with me, live with me. I want to go home to Hatsetsu with you and hug your mother. I want to introduce you to my parents, and get a new puppy with you. I want to skate with you until neither of us can do a Quad Flip anymore, and then I want to coach and choreograph with you. I don’t care about skating or medals, I just want to be by your side forever. Please tell me I haven’t missed my chance.”

With a sob Yuuri launched himself into Viktor’s arms, pressing their lips together, their tears running together where their cheeks touched.

“Is that a yes?” Viktor softly laughed.

Yuuri nodded, and after fumbling with his key for a moment, dragged them both into his apartment.

 

 ---------

 

It was early morning and Viktor stood in his St. Petersburg apartment making pancakes. The television was on running down the latest in sports news in the background.

_“After months of speculation, Viktor Nikiforov seemed to silence all doubters with a masterful performance at this year’s World Championships, narrowly defeating his longtime rival Yuuri Katsuki for the title after falling short at this year’s Grand Prix and a shaky European Championship._

_“The pair caused quite a stir, both breaking their own World records, Nikiforov smashing Katsuki’s Free Skate record in the Grand Prix from earlier this year, and Katsuki crushing Nikiforov’s short program score from last year. Both combined scores were high enough to defeat the previous record, but Nikiforov took the title by less than a point over Katsuki._

_“And if that wasn’t enough, Nikiforov who seems to have a flare for the dramatic shocked the world by kneeling down on top of the podium and proposing to Katsuki for all the world to see. It seems he was successful based on the way Katsuki nearly knocked them off the podium, leaving Bronze medalist Christophe Giacometti the task of keeping them both upright._

_“Both skaters confirmed they’ll be returning next year. Reaction from around the world has been varied…”_

“I think you broke the internet, love.”

Viktor smiled as arms gently circled his waist. “Correction, _we_ broke the internet.”

Yuuri snorted, “I take no responsibility for that.”

“Nope, if you’d just nodded like a normal person I’d let you off, but tackling definitely makes you an accessory.”

Yuuri pinched his butt. “Are you making breakfast?”

“Yep, pancakes!”

“Again? Didn’t we have them yesterday?”

Viktor smiled, turning in his lover’s arms, smiling at the way the early morning sunlight glinted off their matching rings, “Yes, and we’ll have them again and again, every morning we’re together.”

Yuuri giggled, “I might get sick of pancakes then,” he paused as he kissed Viktor softly, “but I don’t think I’ll ever be tired of you making them for me.”

“Then I’ll never stop.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, check out my other work [Magic & Ice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9322724/chapters/21127244). More Fics and AUs to come, so feel free to follow me here or on [tumblr](http://ajwolf84.tumblr.com/). Thanks for reading!


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